


If You're Lost on the Way (Then I'll Get Lost Too)

by AlwaysKatie7



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Brienne and Jaime keep being forced to work together much to their mutual dismay, F/M, Hogwarts AU, Warning: Underage Drinking, instead of coparenting actual children Cersei and Jaime coparent an owl, its fine though they're going to fall in love, no incest but Cersei is still a terrible sibling, promise of future sauciness in the prefects bath!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 06:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysKatie7/pseuds/AlwaysKatie7
Summary: They meet on the train to Hogwarts when they are eleven years old....Five years later, and Jaime Lannister is still one of the most irritating people Brienne Tarth knows. The feeling is mutual.Hogwarts AU.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a Tumblr post to the tune of "Hogwarts AU where Jaime gets sorted into Gryffindor and Cersei is pissed." I can't for the life of me seem to track it down now, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and this just sort of manifested from there. 
> 
> I've never written an AU before, and I only sometimes read them, so this is an experimental first all around for me, but the idea would just not let me go. Results to be determined.

The morning of the first dawned clear and bright, without a cloud in the sky. In the city, the streets were packed full with people enjoying the rare swell of September sunshine—children running a few paces ahead of their exasperated parents, couples walking hand in hand along the pavement, and tourists sagging under the weight of their endless luggage, heads raised to take in their first views of the London streets. Kings Cross was packed too, which meant that the small, seemingly ordinary family of four had no trouble at all blending in with the crowd, carefully sidestepping the wave of travelers at just the right moment to walk briskly into the solid brick barrier between platforms 9 and 10, at which point they disappeared from view entirely.

 

On the other side of the barrier, the same small family reemerged onto a crowded train platform: a tall, stoic man dressed cleanly in a pressed black suit, and his three children trailing behind him, two clutching embellished school trunks while the third, the youngest and by far the smallest, walked with his arms crossed, a sour look upon his face. The fact that they were related was obvious only by their looks. The father did not so much as glance back to ensure that his children kept pace behind him, but his hair, laced with silver, still held traces of the golden blonde that crowned all of his offspring. And even in their youth, the children had handsome faces. They were Lannisters, after all.

 

Jaime Lannister, the older boy, was at the moment doing his very best to ignore his younger brother—the boy with the sour face. He had been waiting for this day for weeks, months, even. Ever since he and his sister, Cersei, had gotten their identical letters in the mail, Jaime had been crossing off the days on a calendar he’d pinned to his bedroom wall, as a personal countdown to September the first, and he wasn’t going to let Tyrion ruin it. Still, now that the day had finally arrived and he stood clutching the handle of his trunk in front of the Express train, he suddenly felt as if it had all come too soon.  

 

            From the moment his family had walked through the barrier, time seemed to have slowed to twice its regular pace. The platform was swarming with students and their families, all of whom appeared to be in a rush as they gathered their things and said their goodbyes. Jaime kept one hand tightly wrapped around his trunk handle while the other clutched Myrcella’s cage, following his sister as they navigated through the thick crowds until their father suddenly came to a halt in a patch of empty space beside the train. The Hogwarts Express blared its horn almost as soon as they stopped, signaling that it was time, already, to say their goodbyes. Jaime wasn’t as ready for them as he had thought he would be. He found that he couldn’t think of a thing to say. In the end it was his father who broke the tense silence and spoke first, staring down at him and his sister with an unreadable expression upon his face. “Do our name proud, children,” the man said firmly, reaching out to shake Jaime’s hand, and giving Cersei the briefest of pecks on the forehead. That was all he said to them, but Jaime wasn’t surprised. He felt lucky to have gotten the handshake, if he was being honest. It made him feel suddenly older, as if his father thought of him as a man now, an equal. He tried to stand a little taller as he turned away. Cersei had already started toward the train, but Jaime paused, shifting over to stand before his younger brother. Tyrion didn’t so much as meet his eyes.

 

            “I’ll be back home for Christmas, Tyrion, and I’ll tell you all about it, I promise. The time’ll go by quickly, you’ll see.” Still, his brother said nothing.

 

            “Hurry _up_ , Jaime,” Cersei said impatiently from a few feet away, gesturing towards the train. The conductor was now ushering aboard everyone still standing on the platform. “And stop coddling him. He’s being such a baby, it’s embarrassing.” Her eyes darted around the station nervously, as if she was convinced the other students were watching them through the train windows and would spite her later for having a dwarf as a brother.

 

            Jaime ignored her, bending down to level with his brother’s height, and threw his arms around him. Tyrion at least hugged him back, albeit briefly. Jaime had to concede that it was about as much as he could hope to get. His brother had barely spoken five words to him in the past two days. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered to the boy, before standing back up and pulling his luggage over to Cersei. Reluctantly, he let his sister lead him towards the train.

 

            They didn’t make it very far. As soon as they’d boarded, Jaime paused at the first window, watching while his father and Tyrion got smaller and smaller as the train picked up speed, and waving frantically at his disappearing brother. Even from a distance, Jaime could tell that Tyrion wasn’t waving back. Once again he felt the familiar sharp pang of guilt that came with leaving him behind, but what else could he do? It wasn’t like he could just _not go_ to Hogwarts. Not when he’d been waiting for practically his entire life to learn how to use his wand. He needed to be a skilled wizard, to learn to duel, and duel well, if he was going to join the aurors once he was through. That had been their plan since they were six; Cersei would be Minister of Magic, and he would be Head Auror under her—just the sort of high ranking positions that befit the Lannisters, according to their father. Today was the start of all that. He had to leave. He only wished Tyrion understood that.

 

            _Tyrion will be fine_ , he reminded himself brusquely, _he has his owl for company, and I’ll send him letters every day if I have to._ He’d been telling himself the same line for the past 24 hours. It had been much harder than he’d anticipated packing his bags, especially after Tyrion had begun to ignore him in his anger at being left behind. _Four years. In four years he’ll be old enough to come to Hogwarts, too._ It was no time at all, really, or so Jaime told himself. Tyrion, on the other hand, seemed to think four years was forever.

 

            “Come on,” an irritated Cersei said beside him, tugging Jaime away from the window by his elbow and pulling him down the narrow train corridor. “We need to find an empty compartment before all the best ones are taken.”

 

            He allowed her to lead him down the narrow aisle, pausing every few steps to peer into the windows of each compartment. They had to walk the length of three train cars until they found one that was still empty. Jaime hoisted their trunks onto the luggage shelf and then slid onto the bench across from his sister, setting Myrcella’s cage carefully on the seat beside him. The genial owl clucked her beak approvingly as he fed her a treat from his knapsack.

 

            They were sharing Myrcella, though their father had let them each pick out an owl while they were in Diagon Alley. Much to Cersei’s dismay, Jaime had insisted on giving his away to Tyrion, to keep his brother company back home at Casterly Rock while they were away. At the Magical Menagerie, he’d carefully chosen the smallest owl in the store, a tiny but plump pygmy owl with speckled feathers. Tyrion had actually hugged him in glee when Jaime had brought him home. Cersei had rolled her eyes and glared at the pair of them, but in the end she had agreed that Jaime could share her bird, a majestic tawny owl with golden feathers, while they were at school.

 

            Jaime gave Myrcella an appreciative pat before settling into the chair opposite his sister, letting Cersei ramble on about all the things she was going to do at Hogwarts as he stared out the window at the rolling countryside. Cersei was discussing potions and spells and how she planned to charm all of their professors and soar to the top of their class, but not for the first time her words seemed to pass over his head like wisps of smoke. His twin sister was far more ambitious than he, and he had always known it; she dreamed of becoming Minister of Magic, rising above even their father. Jaime only cared about learning how to duel and, in the shorter term, making the Slytherin quidditch team. But they both knew how to plan. With Tyrion’s help, he’d learned that the current captain of the Slytherin team was a burly fifth year named Aerys Targaryen. Jaime knew that this was the boy he had to impress. Though even he wasn’t stupid enough to hope that Aerys would let a first year on the team, he’d decided that if he chipped away at the captain now, he’d be well set on the path to make beater in a year’s time.

 

Cersei continued to drawl on about their future professors and all she knew about them, and Jaime thought fondly of his prized broomstick, gathering dust in the shed at Casterly Rock. First years weren’t allowed broomsticks of their own. Despite Jaime’s protests, in the end the rules had won out—his father had forced him to leave it behind.

But he was a good rider, even without his prized broomstick, and he’d played quidditch in the local child’s league for three years now. He had the practice, and making the house team was simply the next logical step. He’d use one of the old school brooms to do it, if he had to. As Cersei talked, he thought carefully of what he might say to Aerys when he met him. If he made the right impression early, it could make all the difference later on. He just needed Aerys to give him a chance. Once the captain agreed to watch him fly, he could prove himself and make the team on his own terms.  

 

Not long after, he was pulled out of a particularly good daydream in which he was holding up the golden quidditch cup to the roars of the entire Slytherin common room by the sound of their compartment door unlatching. When it slid open, it revealed a great beast of a girl: as tall as Jaime was, with yellow-blonde hair cropped short at her shoulders and a million freckles that stood out harshly against her pale, blotchy skin. She was already dressed in her school robes, which fell about three inches too short on her, and she must have been a first year, though she didn’t look it, because she was wearing a plain black tie instead of a striped house one.

 

            Jaime’s first thought was that she was the ugliest girl he had ever seen. Too tall for her age, too gangly, too awkward, with a plain face marred by a crooked nose and an unseemly scar running down one cheek. She looked uncomfortable standing there, as if she knew instinctively that she didn’t belong in a compartment with the Lannisters. But she had nice eyes. They were bright, piercing blue, like far off waters or the sky on a clear summer day.

 

Cersei stopped talking, at last, to look up at their intruder, and she immediately smirked at the sight. “Who are you?”

 

“Brienne,” the tall girl said hesitantly. “I’m Brienne Tarth.” She held out a hand, but Cersei didn’t take it. “Sorry,” Brienne added quickly, dropping her hand lamely and looking between them in a panic, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought this compartment was empty.”

 

“Clearly it isn’t, _Brienne Tarth_ ,” said Cersei, drawing out her pronunciation of the girl’s name with an unpleasant flourish. Jaime said nothing. The girl, Brienne, just stood there, clutching the handle of her trunk with frosty knuckles. Jaime wished she’d just leave already, so as to spare them all, but no such luck. “I’m Cersei Lannister, and this is my brother, Jaime. You’re Selwyn Tarth’s daughter.” His sister stated her introductions bluntly, looking Brienne up and down with a sneer. Their guest nodded once in confirmation, which was apparently enough of an encouragement to spur Cersei on. “Our fathers used to work together at the Ministry,” she elaborated. _That was it_ , Jaime thought to himself. He _knew_ he’d heard the name Tarth somewhere, but he hadn’t quite been able to place it. “Or rather, your father worked _for_ mine. He’d told us how ugly you were when he met you at the Ministry dinner, but I didn’t think it’d be as bad as all _that_.” She crinkled her nose in disgust, as if Brienne was oozing some unfortunate odor, and turned to Jaime. “That’swhat happens when a pure-blood weds a muggle. It looks like she’s got more mudblood in her than Tarth, doesn’t it? What do you think, Jaime, can she even do magic?”

 

His sister was looking at him expectantly, and Jaime’s reply slipped from his lips as smoothly as silk. “She? Are you sure that’s a girl? I can hardly tell.”

 

Jaime saw Brienne’s fists clench in anger, but the oaf of a girl managed to keep her face straight, impassive. She looked Cersei dead in the eye as she spoke, and ignored him completely. He was almost impressed. “I’ll find another compartment,” Brienne said simply, backing out of theirs and pulling her trunk with her. She didn’t even slam the door on her way out.

 

Across from him, Cersei stretched out her legs so that her feet rested in the empty space between him and Myrcella’s cage, flicking her long, golden waves away from her eyes impatiently. “Can you believe we have to go to  _school_ with these people?” She was still sneering in disgust, and it made her look like she’d just swallowed something particularly bitter.

 

“Well it’s not like she’s going to be a Slytherin, is she?” said Jamie carefully, “So it won’t matter, we’ll barely see her anyway. Gryffindor can have her for all I care.”

 

Cersei scoffed at him. “ _Gryffindor?_ She’ll be lucky if they let her try at Hufflepuff before sending her home. Did you _see_ her? I’ll be surprised if she can hold her wand correctly, let alone cast a spell with it.”

 

Jaime laughed, but he thought again about Brienne Tarth’s set, composed face and tightly clenched fists. _Gryffindor_ , he thought again to himself. _Definitely a Gryffindor._

 

The rest of the train ride passed without excitement, and in relative silence. When the snack trolley came, Cersei didn’t even say anything about his buying a thick stack of sugary chocolate frogs and butterscotch wands, restraining herself to only a disapproving frown and single cluck of her tongue. As the train neared the station, they fumbled through their trunks and changed hastily into their black school robes. Dressed identically, they looked even more similar than usual. But Cersei was even quieter now than she had been the whole journey. As they disembarked, she insisted on being the one to carry Myrcella’s cage, pulling it from his hands with more force than was actually necessary. She still seemed a little bitter about his comments over the Brienne girl—as if he’d been _defending_ her or something, when all he’d done was tell Cersei to calm down. This Brienne meant nothing to them, and would continue to mean nothing. What did it matter what house was unfortunate enough to get stuck with her? He didn’t understand why Cersei cared so much.

 

But all thought of his sister’s attitude left his mind when he got his first look at Hogwarts across the black lake. The castle seemed almost to shimmer in the distance, illuminated by the twinkling stars above reflecting off the dark water. Jaime had spent countless hours staring at the drawings of this castle in Tyrion’s books, but it was somehow both larger and grander than he had ever suspected it would be. As they were led through the vast front doors and into the great hall, the sheer size of it all began to feel overwhelming. He had always thought of Casterly Rock as big, but this, this was something else entirely.

 

The first-years were led to the front of the great hall, where they stood clustered beneath the raised platform where the staff table sat. An ancient looking hat was then brought out and carefully placed upon a stool. As the sorting hat opened its mouth and began its start of the year song, Jaime turned away and attempted to get a better look at the tables that spanned the length of the room. His searching eyes immediately landed on the Slytherins. The older students already seated there were muttering amongst themselves, chuckling every now and then at the hat’s quips. All had matching green and silver ties looped around their necks. Jaime wondered which of them was Aerys Targaryen. Maybe once he was sorted he’d could get a seat close enough to introduce himself. He was so distracted by the thought that he barely noticed when the hat’s song ended and the sorting began.

 

The number of first year’s huddled at the front of the room thinned quickly as students were sent to their respective house tables one by one. Still, by the time half the class had been sorted, Jaime was beginning to grow impatient. There was no doubt that the hat would put him in Slytherin. The Lannisters were all Slytherins, and had been for hundreds of years. In his bedroom at home, a Slytherin banner hung right next to one bearing the Lannister crest.  


He was just wondering if the walls of the slytherin common room really opened to underground views of the black lake when his sister’s name was called at last. Cersei left his side and walked purposefully to the front of the hall, sitting delicately on the edge of the wooden stool. The hat didn’t even touch her head before it called out “SLYTHERIN!” There were cheers from the table on the far left of the Great Hall, and his sister gave him a big grin before bounding over to join her new housemates. Jaime grinned back at her, glad to see she was finally smiling again.

 

“Lannister, Jaime,” the deputy headmistress called next. He hurried up the steps to where the stool Cersei had so recently sprung up from awaited him, empty once again. From this vantage point, he was happy to see that Cersei had saved him a seat at the Slytherin table. It was his last sight of the hall before the hat was dropped hastily onto his head, falling over his eyes and blocking out the view completely.

 

 _Another Lannister,_ the hat’s voice spoke in his ear. Jaime shuddered. Something about the voice made him feel ill at ease. _But you are different from your sister, I daresay_. _Different from your whole family, perhaps._

 

Jaime felt his blood run cold. _No,_ he thought frantically. _No I’m not. Cersei and I are the same. A mirror image._ It was what his sister had always said, and what he had always believed.

 

 _You want to be in Slytherin_ , the hat stated knowingly.

 

 _Yes_ , Jaime answered, unsure whether or not he’d actually said it aloud. He feared he may have. Trapped under the hat, it was difficult to hear the drifting voices of whispering students. The entire hall seemed to have gone quiet. Only the hat’s voice broke through.

 

_You would not thrive there. But where else to put you? You are a most unusual child, Jaime Lannister. Not an easy placement. Not in the slightest. I see all four houses in you._

_I am a Slytherin. I’m a Lannister!_ Jaime thought desperately, his anxiety overriding his rationality. He was practically begging a _hat_ , of all things. But he didn’t stop, even though he was beginning to feel overwhelmingly foolish. He had to be a Slytherin. What would Cersei say if he wasn’t? What would their _father_ say?

 

 _Hufflepuff_ , perhaps? The hat speculated, apparently ignoring his pleas. _Yes. You are persistent, hard-working, fair. All traits of the badger._

_No. Gods no. Please_.

_No? Oh all right then…but I won’t put you in Slytherin, either. It wouldn’t do you any favors. I suppose that leaves…yes…_ ”GRYFFINDOR!”

 

Jaime didn’t realize the last word had been spoken aloud until the hat was pulled roughly from his head. He was still frantically repeating an internal monologue of ‘ _no_.’ The blasted hat hadn’t listened to a word of it. Now the entire hall was looking at him. He forced himself to look towards Cersei first. She was no longer smiling. In fact, her lips were creased into so thin a line that it almost appeared as she didn’t have lips at all. And she refused to meet his searching eyes.

 

“The table’s on your right dear,” the deputy headmistress prodded him gently, giving him a little push that jolted Jaime back into his body. He felt numb and detached even as he forced himself to stand on his shaky feet. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t a Gryffindor. The hat had gotten it all wrong, it must have. There had been a mistake.

 

The Gryffindor table was not cheering, as the Slytherins had done for Cersei. Instead the other students were all staring at him, frozen as if in a trance. Many of them looked nearly as shocked as he was. The Lannisters were a well known wizarding family. It was common knowledge that the Lannister lion was an ironic part of their house crest. In the ancient days, it was said that the Lannisters had been able to transform into lions, but since the birth of Hogwarts, they had only ever been snakes. Clearly he hadn’t been the only one expecting he’d be joining the Slytherins.

 

Sitting down numbly at the farthest edge of the table, Jaime saw that his hands were shaking. The sorting had continued now, and the faces around him gradually turned back to the front of the hall. The boy following him, whose insignificant name Jaime didn’t catch, was quickly sorted into Slytherin. The twiggy boy took the place beside Cersei that should have been his.

 

At the other end of Jaime’s table, the bloody Stark boys were chortling loudly amongst themselves, barely paying attention to the remainder of the sorting. Jaime had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Of course the wretched Starks were all Gryffindors—as if things couldn’t get any worse. He immediately picked out the oldest, Robb. He hadn’t changed much from the last time their fathers had forced them into the same room together. The boys on either side of him must then be the orphaned Stark cousin, Jon, and the Greyjoy idiot they’d also taken in, as if they didn’t have enough children already. If he remembered right, they were all third years now. It was going to be a long few terms, he thought bitterly.

 

“Tarth, Brienne,” the headmistress called. At her name, Jaime jerked his head back around to the front of the hall just in time to see the girl from the train trip over herself on the way to the stool. There were scattered snickers amongst the few students still paying attention. When she sat down, Brienne kept her eyes pinned firmly on the ground as the hat descended over her face. Seconds later, she was a Gryffindor. Jaime couldn’t help himself, he looked over at Cersei smugly, wishing he was close enough to whisper _I told you so_. But his sister wasn’t looking at him. She was talking to the boy that sat in his place, and he felt the brief happiness that had come with being right dissolve almost as quickly as it had arrived.

 

Brienne Tarth took her place at the other end of the Gryffindor table. He noticed that she had made sure to sit as far away from him as possible.

 

Later, when the feast had finally ended and the other boys in his new dormitory had drifted off to sleep, Jaime got up to pen his first letter home. They would have to find out sooner or later, his father and brother. Hell, Cersei had probably already told them. It was better to just get it over with.

 

 _Dear Father,_ he wrote out carefully, focusing hard on his penmanship. But he decided the letters looked a little crooked, and crossed it out.  


_Dear Father,_ he wrote again, even slower. The letters were in a perfect line. But he couldn’t think of what to say after.

 

After several minutes of staring at the nearly blank parchment, he crossed that heading out too and scrawled his brother’s name instead. Let Cersei tell their father.

 

He wrote the new letter hastily, so that his lines came out crooked and uneven. There were doubtless many mistakes, all of which Tyrion would be correcting in his head as he read. The thought made Jaime smile for the first time all day.

 

_Tyrion,_

_Cersei’s probably already written to father, so you may already know, but I’ve been put in Gryffindor. It’s awful...even the Stark boys are here, though luckily I don’t have to share my dormitory with any of them. When you get to Hogwarts in short time, you’d better tell that blasted hat to put you in Gryffindor, too. Don’t leave me alone with these people._

_I miss you._

_Jaime._

_P.S. Hogwarts really is a big as you say. I should’ve believed you._

He sealed the letter and slid it into his bag to give to Myrcella come morning.


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am finally back with chapter one! This chapter is mostly setup, but don't worry, we will be starting to get into the bulk of this story very soon. Thank you to everyone who left me a comment on the prologue, all of them were lovely to read. 
> 
> To clarify the time jump, the current time frame of the story is four years after the events of the prologue, which means Brienne and Jaime are just starting their fifth year, Theon, Jon and Robb are in their seventh year, Sansa's a fourth year, Arya's a second year, and Bran, Tyrion and Podrick are all first years. And yes, the Starks alone make up half the Gryffindor quidditch team, because you know they would.

_Four Years Later..._

* * *

 

 

Exhausted, Brienne fumbled through the portrait hole and immediately made a bee-line toward the armchairs in front of the fire, which were fortunately empty save for the one occupied by her best friend, grinning at the sight of her. Despite herself, she felt something inside her flutter as she looked at him. Her halfhearted attempt to push the feeling away was not met with success.

 

All the same, she did her very best not to think of it. Renly Baratheon was _not_ going to consume her every waking thought this year, she told herself furiously. She wasn’t going to allow it. After all, had she not just spent the entire summer trying to get over him? Was she really going to let one smile undo it? Another look at him, the corners of his mouth still quirked up irresistibly, told her that probably, yes. She let out a sigh and collapsed into the armchair beside him. That was a problem to worry about later, when Sansa was around to shake some sense into her.

 

“So how was your first patrol with the devil himself?” Renly asked, still grinning. Brienne couldn’t help but notice that he’d grown his hair out a bit over the summer holidays. His dark curls now flopped lazily over his forehead, and it made him look even fitter, if that was possible. She’d been too preoccupied to notice it yesterday on the train. In response to his question, she managed only a shake of her head. “Really? That bad? Don’t tell me—he beat up one of the first years for like, walking the wrong way? No, wait—his father shitted out another few trillion gallons over the summer and he wouldn’t shut up about it? Or—oh god—did Cersei follow you two around the whole time, making that terrible face she always looks at you with and offering her fabulously misguided, unasked for insights into the art of prefect-ing? Are we quite sure they aren’t  _actually_ still attached by their umbilical cords?”

 

There were familiar laughs behind them, and Brienne spun around to see the entire Stark clan standing there, plus Theon Greyjoy. The youngest of the bunch, Bran, had only been sorted into Gryffindor last evening. All of them but Sansa were covered from head to toe in a thick layer of dirt and mud, which meant they could only have been outside on the field, tossing around the Quaffle between them. Robb was captain of the Gryffindor team now, and absolutely obsessive. He had probably insisted that his siblings help him test out the pitch conditions before actual team practices started up again. Brienne only wished she could have joined them.

 

“It wasn’t that bad,” she insisted, as the Starks spread out across the last armchairs and onto the floor. “Actually, for once he hardly said a word. I think he’s mad his brother got sorted into Slytherin.” She recalled how crestfallen Jaime had looked when the sorting hat had sent Tyrion to his sisters’ table instead of his.

 

“Or he’s still mad that _he_ didn’t , more like it,” said Theon, rolling his eyes. It was common knowledge that Jaime Lannister hated being in Gryffindor. If it wasn’t obvious enough by his behavior, Jaime made it clear practically every time he opened his mouth—which was unfortunately often.

 

“I still can’t believe they made that git a prefect,” Jon added. “What on earth was Davos thinking?”

 

“Probably that he doesn’t want to get on the bad side of Tywin Lannister,” said Renly, his voice laced with more than a hint of bitterness. “Bloody fucking Lannisters. Only one of _them_ could nearly kill a student and not only _not_ get expelled, but also show up the next year with a shiny prefect’s badge plastered across their chest.”

 

Brienne agreed wholeheartedly. But, that was Lannister privilege for you. No matter how badly one of the Lannister children messed up, their father was always there to pull them back out again, clutching new trophies. It had been disappointing enough when she’d written Renly about receiving her prefect’s badge and discovered that he hadn’t gotten one too. By that point Brienne had already dreamt up long scenarios about what a prefect round with Renly would be like, most of which involved the two of them wandering the dimly lit castle late at night and sneaking into empty classrooms, where their talking would finally evolve into other, more _hands-on_ activities…. Then the owl had arrived with his response. After, they had speculated endlessly over which of the other boys could possibly have gotten the position over him. Not once had they considered Jaime. Yet it had indeed been Jaime who had shown up on the platform yesterday wearing the badge, his mouth cocked into its normal, careless, infuriatingly arrogant grin. And the grin had only widened when he’d spotted her wearing the badge as well. _Gods, Brienne, you and I just can’t escape each other_ , _can we?_ he’d said. Behind him, Cersei glared daggers at her, per usual. And there was another boy with them too, with the same golden hair, whom Brienne had since learned was their younger brother, Tyrion. The small boy clung to an extravagant trunk embossed with his initials, just like the ones his older siblings’ pulled. Jaime had his arm draped casually, but protectively, around Tyrion’s shoulders as he spoke.

 

“He cast the Cruciatus,” Sansa said solemnly, pulling Brienne out of her little flashback and back into the present, “he should be in Azkaban.”

 

From the floor beside her, Arya rolled her eyes, curling a strand of her cropped brown hair around her finger. “He didn’t cast the Cruciatus, don’t be an idiot Sansa.” Brienne had to wonder if the twelve-year-old actually held that opinion, or if she was just disagreeing with Sansa to get a rise out of her. Either way, it worked.

 

“He did!” Sansa snapped, “Everyone is saying so. And Father says Aerys is _still_ in St. Mungo’s, recovering…” her voice trailed off grimly.

 

“Arya’s right,” Jon interrupted, his tone serious, “Fifteen-year-olds can’t cast unforgettable curses, it’s not possible.” Arya turned to her sister with immense satisfaction.

 

“How would you know? Have you tried it?” Sansa retorted. Brienne tuned out their bickering. After spending the entire last month of summer with the Starks, she was used to their constant arguing—and sick of it. She’d asked Sansa a million times what her big vendetta against Arya was, but to no avail. The girls would be bickering until they died.

 

Besides, they weren’t the only ones still debating what Jaime had or hadn’t done last year. All anyone knew for certain was that the day before the Quidditch final, Jaime had shown up at the hospital wing with the captain of the Slytherin team, knocked out, bloodied and beaten, hovering in the air behind him, and announced to the matron that he was the one who’d done it. Aerys had been transferred over to St. Mungo’s shortly after, and Aerys’ father, who just so happened to be Minister of Magic at the time, had announced he was dropping out of the race for relection to be with his son as he healed. Two weeks later, Renly’s older brother, Robert, had assumed the position, while Tywin Lannister, who had worked hand in hand with Minister Targaryen, quietly transferred over to assume a top position with the newly minted Minister Baratheon instead. Brienne might have wondered how anyone related to Renly could willingly work with a man like Tywin Lannister, if she didn’t know how much Renly hated his older brother.

 

As a result of Jaime and Aery’s fight, the quidditch final had been cancelled. Robb was furious, but there was no point in playing with a member down on each team. Aerys was the Slytherin keeper, and they didn’t have an alternate. As for the Gryffindor team, Brienne was good, but she wasn’t good enough to play the part of two beaters in one.

 

Everyone had expected that Jaime would be expelled. It had seemed impossible at first, a wild rumor, that a fifteen-year-old could take down star captain and Minister’s son Aerys Targaryen. When they realized that it was not only entirely true, but that he’d actually _gotten away with it_ , Jaime was dubbed the Snakeslayer, and quietly mocked for the remainder of the school year. Brienne had assumed such taunts would fade away over the summer, but apparently not. They’d still been whispering it all over the great hall yesterday at the feast, and she couldn’t pretend he didn’t deserve it. How Jaime had gone from _that_ to being named her co-prefect was beyond her. Brienne had always respected Headmaster Davos, who treated everyone with kindness, but she would never understand why he had let Tywin Lannister bowl him over. Something about Jaime’s horrible father seemed to make even the best men wilt under his stare. What that something was eluded her.

 

“When are you going to hold tryouts for my other beater?” Brienne asked, turning to Robb in an attempt to redirect the conversation away from Sansa and Arya’s continued bickering. The oldest Stark’s face faltered. He looked away guiltily, and Brienne felt her heart drop with sudden fear. He wasn’t going to kick her off the team, too, was he? It was a ridiculous thought, but then, why else was he suddenly refusing to meet her eyes? Maybe he wanted to train up two new beaters together, now that he’d lost Jaime.

 

“There won’t be tryouts,” Robb said finally, flatly. “Lannister is staying on.”

 

“ _What?”_ Sansa and Arya screeched out together, their heads snapping up from their argument in unison, wearing matching looks of disdain. It was incredibly jarring to see them on the same page for once, and they weren’t the only ones. Even little Bran’s head shot up in surprise, and the boy, busy fiddling with the rug, had barely been paying attention. Brienne let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t nearly as bad of news as she had thought, then. Dealing with him at practices would be hell on top of the Prefect rounds, but at least Jaime knew how to play. Beyond her momentary fear of Robb kicking her off the team, she’d long been afraid of getting stuck with some third year she’d have to spend all season training up. The others didn’t seem to share her sentiment. Theon was looking at Robb as if he had grown five heads.

 

“He’s _staying on_? He ruined our chances at the cup last year! He _beat up another captain!_ ”

 

“He’s also the best player we’ve got,” Robb snapped, his eyes flickering between them. “Well, him and Brienne, anyway.” He gave her a quick nod of appreciation, and Brienne blushed. “Do you want to win this year, or not? Davos said he’s allowed to play, so he’s playing.” 

 

 Even Sansa, who could care less about quidditch, was glaring at her brother as though he’d personally and deeply betrayed her. “I can’t believe you think winning is more important than Brienne,” she said angrily. “It’s bad enough that she has to deal with him every time she’s on prefect duty. And he’s _dangerous!_ ” 

 

“Sansa, it’s fine,” Brienne said quickly. Rumors of his ability to cast unforgiveable curses notwithstanding, she wasn’t afraid of Jaime Lannister in the slightest. She’d put up with him for this long, hadn’t she? What was another year? She turned to Robb, who suddenly looked torn. He was looking at her with a face that dripped of guilt. “Really, it’s fine Robb. You’re right. We have the best chance of winning with Lannister, and I want us to win this year as much as you do.”

 

Theon groaned in annoyance. He played chaser, and him and Jaime had gotten into fights at practically every single practice they’d had in the past two years. Jon, their keeper, just looked resigned. But Robb smiled at her gratefully. “You’re the best, Brienne.”

 

Brienne turned away to hide her flush at the compliment. “Well, now that that’s settled, are you lot going to go shower, or are we going to have to keep sitting amongst your stench?” she managed. The Starks laughed, standing up in clusters and heading towards their dormitories.

 

“The Lady has spoken,” Robb chirped, pulling Bran to his feet. The common room was clearing out now as the last of the other Gryffindors drifted off to their beds as well. It grew quieter by a tenfold as soon as they’d departed. In front of the fireplace, Brienne was left alone with Renly and Sansa. The light of the flames seemed to make the woven tapestries covering the wall dance.

 

“So really,” Sansa began, moving into the chair that Theon had vacated and looking at Brienne seriously, “Now that my beloved family is gone, are you going to tell us about the prefect round or what? Where is the Snakeslayer anyway? You haven’t managed to kill him _already_ , have you?”

 

“He wasn’t that bad,” Brienne repeated. At the looks on her two friends’ faces, she added a “Truly.” Then, “It’s like I said, he was practically silent.”

 

It really was the truth. When she met Jaime in their agreed upon spot—the alcove right outside the Fat Lady’s portrait—at the agreed upon hour—9 o’clock, she’d gone dreading the encounter all the while. But once she’d arrived Jaime had only nodded once at her in acknowledgement and begun walking, his expression unusually stoic, all the cockiness of their encounter on the train platform gone from his face. In mutual silence, they’d gotten on with their round, stopping on occasion to help a first year who had gotten lost on his way back to the common room, or to break up some older students who had snuck out of their dormitories for private reunions in empty hideaways, much like the ones Brienne had delusionally imagined she’d be having with Renly, if only he was her co-prefect and not Jaime bloody Lannister. Alas. She didn’t attempt to make conversation. From every prior indication, a silent Lannister was far preferable to a talking one. So the hour passed slowly, until finally it was up and she could return to the dormitory, where she knew Renly would be waiting. As she turned in that direction, Jamie didn’t follow. She spun around back to face him. “Aren’t you coming?”

 

A pause. Then, “No, I’d better not.” And he’d headed off briskly in the other direction. She hadn’t thought much of it, really. She hadn’t really cared. What did it matter what Lannister got up to? And yet, at Sansa’s question, she thought of it again, more curiously. Maybe it _was_ a little odd that he wasn’t back yet. But then again, this was _Jaime Lannister_. If anyone would be stupid enough to risk their prefect status by wandering the castle past curfew on their first day on the job, it was him. He was probably off with his bloody sister at that very moment, doing who knows what.

 

As she relayed all of this to them, Renly and Sansa looked nothing but bored by the lack of drama. She knew they’d been expecting something juicier, but they needn’t fret; Brienne unfortunately had a whole year ahead of her for repeat prefect duties with the Snakeslayer, and she had no doubt the most unbearable ones were still ahead of her. For now, she switched tactics and began to tell them about her favorite first year instead, a small boy named Podrick who’d fallen into the black lake on the boats to the castle yesterday. When he’d shown up in the Great Hall sopping wet and been quickly sorted into Gryffindor, Brienne had been the one to spell him dry. Podrick seemed to take this as a promising sign for future companionship, and had plopped down beside her for breakfast the next morning, chattering away about Hogwarts and how different it was from the muggle world in which he’d grown up. She was halfway through telling Renly and Sansa about her plan to help Podrick make friends his own age—perhaps with Bran, for starters—when a loud bang sounded from beyond the common room, followed by a string of curse words and an angry “For the sake of the gods will you _just_ bloody let me in already?” that made all three of them look up.

 

“Is that _Lannister_?” Renly said, staring towards the portrait hole. They exchanged startled looks. It _did_ sound like Jaime, though even he should have been smart enough to realize that talking so loudly in the middle of the corridor at 11:30 at night was a one-way ticket to receiving a weeks’ worth of detentions. She rolled her eyes and stood up, to which Sansa stared at her absurdly.  
  


“What?” Brienne said defensively, “ _Someone’s_ got to let him in.”

 

“ _Or_ we could just leave him out there yelling until Old Man Frey hears him and hauls him off for a night in the dungeons,” offered Renly. Frey, the caretaker, was notorious for threatening to hang disobedient students from their fingertips with the rusty chains that still hung beneath the castle.

 

Sansa grinned, “That _would_ spare you at least a few prefect rounds with him, Brienne.”

 

Their plan was no doubt an enticing one, but Brienne started walking toward the portrait hole anyway. Jaime was still banging around out there, and if she didn’t shut him up soon he’d awaken the entire dormitory, including the first years who needed rest before the first day of classes most of all. She left Sansa and Renly to raise their eyes at one another behind her back and crawled through the portrait hole, almost running straight into Jaime, who was standing practically on top of the Fat Lady on the other side.

 

Jaime stumbled backward just in time, unsteady on his feet. Then he narrowed his eyes at her theatrically, as if accessing whether or not she was real, and said in a loud whisper, “ _Brienne?”_ Her name came out more slurred than spoken, giving her pause just as she had opened her mouth to yell at him. She blinked, then opened her eyes to look at him again, really look, hoping she was wrong about what she was slowly starting to suspect. Since classes hadn’t started, they weren’t required to wear their full uniforms yet. Jaime’s robe was open over a heavy green jumper and jeans. His prefect badge was still pinned across his chest, sparkling. But his face was pallid, and his eyes were unfocused. He seemed unable to stand still, staggering over himself as he headed back towards the Fat Lady determinedly. Apparently he had already forgotten she was there, because his surprise at her arrival soon dissolved as quickly as it had come, and he was back to shouting bad guesses at the password at the portrait that guarded Gryffindor tower.

 

“You’re drunk,” Brienne stated plainly, staring at him in dismay. “How the hell are you drunk?” She didn’t expect him to answer. It was more of a question for herself than for him. How did anyone get their hands on alcohol on the _second night_ back at school? It wasn’t like she was totally naïve, she knew many of the older students had their ways of getting intoxicated when they wanted to, she just hadn’t expected it to be so soon, and she certainly hadn’t expected it to be her _co-prefect._

 

“It was—it was jus’ wine,” Jaime protested, looking over at her guiltily, his words tumbling over themselves as he spoke. Quite frankly, Brienne was shocked he’d been paying attention enough to hear her question.

 

“I don’t care what it was. You shouldn’t be _drinking_ at all!” Brienne hissed, glaring at him, “Do you have any idea what a racket you’re making? You’ll wake the whole tower!”

 

Jaime, now prodding at an irate Fat Lady with the tips of his fingers, didn’t so much as blink.

 

“Do you not realize you’re a prefect?” Brienne said hopelessly, staring at the pitiful sight before her, utterly appalled. _How_ had Davos decided to give this disaster of a person actual responsibilities? “You’re supposed to be an example!”

 

“Iz…It’s okay Brie…Brie-knee” he struggled with the second half of her name a few more times, increasingly butchering each attempt until finally he just said, “It’s okay, Brinny,” and called it a day. “You worry too much,” he added, as though it were an afterthought.

 

Of all the things Brienne had thought she would be doing on her first night on prefect duty, the absolute last thing on the list would have been hauling her co-prefect’s drunken ass into the common room and up to his dormitory, but here she was. “It’s time for bed,” she announced tiredly, giving up any hope of chastising him tonight when he was still it this state. She would yell at him tomorrow.

 

Unfortunately, Jaime, so eager to get into the common room moments ago, suddenly refused to move. Brienne gave the correct password to a beyond irritated Fat Lady and then found herself manhandling him through the portrait hole. He was surprisingly easy to maneuver. Perhaps it was just his weakened defenses under the influence of the wine, but even when he tried to resist, she was stronger, and overpowering him took little effort. She steered him back through the hole, sidestepping tables and chairs and fallen books. Renly and Sansa were still in their armchairs by the fire, muttering between themselves. Both sets of eyes grew wide when they saw him.

 

“Oh,” Sansa said quietly, her face sinking with the realization as she jumped up to help.  
  


“Yeah, oh.” Brienne answered, shaking her head to indicate she didn’t need the girl’s assistance. Jaime was now allowing her to push him forward towards the steps that led to the boys’ dorms, her hands tight on his shoulders. But then his head spun to look at her, and his face was suddenly inches from hers. She could feel his breath hot against her cheek. Brienne tried to keep her face pointed straight ahead and keep walking.

 

“You have,” began Jaime, his voice thick, “You have astonishing eyes.” He said it as if he were noticing it for the first time, and couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it sooner. It was the voice of amazement.

 

Renly, completely unhelpfully, burst into laughter. Sansa looked almost as bewildered as Brienne felt. Their reactions were the only proof she had that she hadn’t imagined what she’d just heard. But Jaime wasn’t done. He seemed transfixed, still staring into her eyes with his own, which were a striking green. Brienne had never noticed _that_ before, either.

 

“They’re so blue. So blue. Very blue, Brinny. Sapphire eyes. They trapped all your beauty in your eyes, Brinny, did you know that? Cersei wouldn’t like that I said it. Cer-sei,” he overemphasized each syllable, and turned his head back towards the portrait hole, as if expecting Cersei herself to come sauntering through it at any moment.

 

“I think the Snakeslayer has a crush on you, Brienne,” Renly snickered. Brienne glared at him.

 

“Will you stop just sitting there and help me take him upstairs already?” Brienne said.

 

Renly groaned. “It would have been so much easier to just leave him out there for Frey,” he said. Still, he slung an arm around Jaime and said to him, “C’mon mate,” pulling him off Brienne and letting the drunken boy lean on him as he maneuvered them up the stairs. Brienne had to smile, ridiculously, as she noticed that Renly was having a much more difficult time than she’d had.

 

“I can bloody walk myself,” Jaime snapped suddenly, sounding much more like his usual self as he pulled away from Renly, stumbling up the next few steps on his own. Every time he tripped, Renly’s outstretched arm was the only thing that kept him from falling. Brienne watched them slowly maneuver up the steps until they disappeared from view.

 

Beside her, Sansa was staring too, in blind astonishment. “What the hell just happened?” she asked.

 

“I have no bloody idea,” Brienne responded truthfully. But when she’d made her way up to her own dormitory and lay in her four poster moments later, wide awake, his words replayed over and over again in her mind: _You have astonishing eyes._


End file.
